Of Memory and Time
by Fallen Aster
Summary: It was a normal day at Hogwarts. Children were rushing towards the Halls, ready for the New-Years. Professors were either dreading another year or quivering with hope and curiosity. And Severus Snape— the very ever-sneering, slick Professor— couldn't understand a thing. Starting from the very rivalry between the Lions and his Snakes. And Albus is bound to snap. (May change to M)


_I do not own HP, just my mistakes and eventual plot— and AU aspects._

-

 _Of sneering and questions_

Dark robes flickering under the enchanted candlelights, deep eyes looking for anything vaguely familiar apart from the ancient magic clad by stone.

Features curled in a sneer at the presence of so many — as of now — children. He had once loved them all, the school his home. His creation, his teaching place.

To the many fearful second years and used older kids or professors, today Severus Snape was perfectly normal. Nothing out of common.

Minerva strolled towards the Hall, her knowing eyes greeting every soul she considered herself blessed to know. But, as always, this one slick Slytherin did not reply upon his name.

On his account, he did not know the witch. He did not recognize a single face. Be it a child's, be it a Professor's. Only a few ghosts could be said to be familiar... and yet he was still at home, he could _feel_ it.

All in all, he considered himself lucky. It was not everyday one could loose himself and still find his way, after all.

His feet brought him to the Headquarters, the door opening without even _daring_ to ask for any permission or password.

And there stood a buisy graying wizard, his eccentric robes a pang in the very eyes. The Hat in his hands had the decency to keep quiet and not wreck his brain with further migraine.

But, what troubled the Slytherin was the lack of other three laboured chairs beside the —obviously, given the previous door— Griffindor Headmaster.

The latter's amused tone greeted his confused ears, his equilibrium slightly spinning as if on que.

"Ah, Severus. What brings you here? Your first classes shouldn't be starting in a while because of the Sorting, yes?"

"... I am afraid my mind is plaguing me, Headmaster. Could you be so kind as to fill me in on the current status of the School?". Needless to say it took every bit of his remaining self-control not to snap.

The perching phoenix steered, it's fires ruffling as if uncomfortable. He simply stared, his eyes somewhat softening at the sight of the pluriennial creature.

The old man was taken aback, but nevertheless complied.

"It is the beginning of the new year at Hogwarts, Wizarding School. I am very much the same Headmaster Albus Dumbledore— yet I hope you did not need _this_ information, my friend. Your Potion Classes as Professor Snape are soon due, and if I may, this year I would recommend you tone down your preference towards the house you are Head of." he finished with a short chuckle.

He let the words sink in— mind you, most of them empty and much deduced by him a while ago— and noted Dumbledore's glasses could not cover the sparkle of interest and — was that concern?— caution.

"What about...?" he tried, sensing that if his assumptions were right, he would soon know.

Albums relaxed visibly, yet some tension remained.

And he... well, he had been right.

"Yes. The Order against the Dark Lord Voldemort— we still referr to him through many Aliases — still stands. We still have no informations on the whereabouts of his body since the Potter incident, and as far as you are concerned, your alliance still stands with his Death Eaters." He had nodded here and there, careful to seem familiar with the terms and facts Dumbledore was using.

He had had the feeling previously, back in the corridors, that the sneering was his nature. And so the next question was placed with a careful nauseous contortion of his features.

"Tell me... Potter. How soon will I will be seeing him? I still have to clear my head and it would be most—" he mentally pleaded for the Wizard to interrupt, ushering his words faster and to hold distaste.

He did.

"Severus. Your youth should not influence the man you have brought yourself to become. Do not act according on what a single Griffindor did to you. Harry Potter is, and will never be, his father. And it should do you well to remember he will never have the chance to grow basing himself on him and, sadly, never meet him either. Do not treet the boy as—"

"Of course not. Though, I feel it should do you better to remember it was not a _single_ Griffindor." He lashed out, remarking the other's words. "I plead you not to change whatever certainty my head still holds— remember the numbers, Albus. Good Day." he finished, standing up before leaving.

The last part had stricken the Headmaster, but he saw some glints of concern slipping away.

The way he had just emphasized the single number of his old bullies told him there had been more to it, and he had proven it to be right.

He retreated towards the Hall, hoping to still be in time for the Sorting, postponing his hungry curiosity and eventual reaserches.

After all, a Pureblood like him valued time— numbers.

 **oo ͛**

 **I apologize** **for the lenght, but count this as a mere prologue, and hope to hear what your minds have to say about this — sooo misterious** *distant coffs and crickets chirping* **— beginning**

 **-Ali** (a) **s**


End file.
